Jurassic Wardrobe vs. Smoking Reburns

Every now and then I’ve found myself boasting about how the homeless and the poor have low carbon footprints because of low consumption and lots of re-use. However, until now that’s been an empty — if plausible — boast, because I never got around to determining just what my carbon footprint is. Well, today I decided to try out three online quizzes that estimate. I took the highest — and most consistent — two out of the three results to estimate my carbon footprint to be about 5.3 tons/year out of an average American household figure of 9.4 tons/year, putting me at about 56% or more earth-friendly than about half of my neighbors. Predictably, where the greatest gains are made in my (mostly unintentional) eco-stewardship are in frivolous consumerism; my carbon footprint was probably considerably lower when I was sleeping on a loading dock.

But, this is only a very rough estimate based on self-reporting in online quizzes. One question that immediately springs to mind is … what about the fact that most of what I purchase is made in China, and other developing nations with lax environmental regulations? Alas, I can’t find any actual figures, but it stands to reason that Chinese steel that utilizes cruder manufacturing processes that aren’t nearly as beholden to environmental regulations as say, German steel, yields greater emissions in production. I shop at the Dollar Tree and Amazon, so unless I’m splurging or stumbling upon crazy deals I’m buying at best American steel (whose production carbon footprint is lamentably close to China’s). Not that I’m worried that all my virtuous re-using and recycling is being thwarted by relying mostly on shoddy Chinese goods; I seriously doubt the fraction of China-origin purchases of mine is significantly greater than is that of the middle class denizens above me on the societal food chain.

It’s good to think about, though. Which most people don’t, even those silly yuppies who present themselves as eco-groovy and make a show of chatting up the sexy little Sierra Club corporate panhandlers during lunch. If they did think about it, would they feel so comfortable strutting down the street in bedecked in hundreds of dollars of Carboniferous era? Or, for that matter, those boorish blue-collar suburbanites who burn yard debris and illegally dump appliances alongside roads? Or every one of us who don’t use rechargeable batteries and think nothing of throwing them out in the trash when they’re spent? I can use less water, I can eat less processed foods and beef, and I can get a bike and take the bus less; hell, I’m sitting here in front of a computer typing out this blog post, when I could be outside gardening or taking photos of blossoming cherry trees!

Community Garden Plot

One nice thing about passing out early with your face in a book is you wake up early the next day ... and suddenly transitioning from lights out at 3:00 AM to out of bed at 6:00 AM is less a problem. Made an occasion of rousing myself to the sound of waking crows perched outside in the Park Blocks: threw some soap in the tub with me, along with a (dull as FUCK!) razor and a mirror. I even made it to the community garden get-together, after some considerable initial balking; I think what made my mind up was a combination of being sick of sitting around in or walking around in the same boring places and wanting to see if there may be a cutie or two among my fellow gardeners to creep on.

As you can see in the picture … just where in fuck IS my garden plot? It’s there in the middle of the photograph; lol I’m just going to have to get some stakes and twine, at least until I can get my hands on some boards to make a slightly raised bed with. Looks like I’ll be getting a bit of shade from the south, also early shady afternoons and evenings, so I may need to rethink the basil I wanted earlier to try. Including a path, I have room for four ten-foot rows, which means beets and some other stuff. I don’t care yet: first I need to weed the plot and demarcate it, then I need to bolster the soil with compost and mulch — maybe even some peat moss or landscaping gravel — before I worry about planting anything. I really like the neighborhood the garden’s in, so it will be a welcome sanctuary from the boorish Bedlam down here once the dog days of summer settle over us.

But, wait! How am I going to afford all this, being unemployed? The community garden comes with a shed housing various tools, stuff like burlap sacks and compost or wood chips get donated to us periodically throughout the year, seeds are cheap, and there’s sacks of landscaping gravel all over the place waiting for adventures in petty larceny — what with everyone moving here, construction is happening every few blocks. Besides, with deposits going up to 10¢ next month I’ll only need to collect 117 cans and bottles a day to bring in $350 a month, which is enough to get by and even enjoy a modest lifestyle of board games, kimchi, Android development, and ganja … and to keep up on a job search that will hopefully see me employed part-time again before fall.

SALT III Summit 2017

It looks like I may either lose my job or end up looking for another one and moving on as soon as is practical. I blew up on Lobstrocity — fortunately mostly via text after work — Caturday, after a minor chiding by her rubbed the scab off a festering grudge during the peak of an hours-long insanity rush that was knocking all of our dicks in the dirt. I called her out on her abberant psychology with my typically sharp-tongued contempt, so she's roasting me over coals in her heart. I guess I didn't get over her weeks of oppressive bipolar passive-aggressive cunt emanations, even after she apologized that Friday before I bashed my face on the stairwell.

Well, I'll find out tomorrow at 3:30 PM. I need this damn job, so I'll do my best to gracefully navigate the political landscape of the scheduled owner-moderated peace talks. Whether or not the Lobstrocity is sincere in her own overtures and whether or not I find myself in petty machination crosshairs afterward...I don't care. I'm just going to be a co-worker: do an above-average job and keep to myself, refrain from small miscreance, and probably look for work elsewhere in a couple months or as soon as I smell trouble. No more Amazon shopping sprees, alas; time to save up. Shit! Do I have a dental appointment tomorrow? *phew* Nope, not til Thursday.

Fucking work politics. I suck at the interpersonal bullshit, save for limited intervals of widely interspersed charm: I despise my fellow humans, and even when I get along with them or deign to relate to them I'm looking for a reason to toss homeskillet off the cliff (in general, even, I hate both noisy crowds and intimate familiarity). Lobstrocity sucks at it, too, albeit somewhat differently. The Marquessa does, too, but way differently and in a way I don't really get. This is the restaurant business for you...lol in a nutshell. It would be easier for me if I worked with different people (e.g. D— keeps to herself!), also on days I don't have to go out front much.

Better Living through Chemistry

It's weird for it not to be weird, not to drink. Started taking Naltrexone the Thursday before last, and since then I've not only not drank any alcohol but I've not even craved it; I'm gradually startting to think about it less, too. No need for me to ponder at never having heard of it all those times in and out of treatment — I doubt a third of the counselors and case workers and acupuncturists etc. would do well in food service lol. It's a major relief, actually, because when I initially planned on quitting on Ash Wednesday I was worried about how I'd manage; I despise 12-step programs and meetings, also the heavily New Age-influenced counseling and relapse prevention...both of which saturate the whole treatment and recovery industry. It really is an industry.

This is Phase Two, of I guess what can be called Project: Corwin Getting His Shit Together. This is the physical health one, where I quit drinking, then quit smoking cigarettes (or at least temporarily switch to vaping), then start to exercise and improve my diet. Phase One was getting and keeping the job, which aside from one fit I threw whilst severly injured and due to the damn spray gun exploding into catastrophic uselessness I've done beyond spectacularly; in fact, I'd be cooking right now were it not for the injury (well, one of them). Phase Three is something I haven't quite solidified in my mind yet, but I vaguely describe as “getting a life”, as in a life enriched by edifying people and activities.

“Getting a life”, at least a social life, will prove to be daunting. Alas, aside from when I was in college for a few years, most of my adult social orientation and skills have been informed by alcohol and drug abuse, couch crashing and loading overpass trolling, jail and treatment war story circles and chess clubs...and, well, you get the idea. Letting me into your home would be much like letting in a cat off the street, a charming — if rogueish and skittish — fellow that once was a household cat but has since then gone through some serious shit. As for the hobbies and activities, I already have a community garden plot waiting for me, and since I earn money now I can do things like buy board games or a Dremel or even stuff to make soap with — the most difficult part will me getting off my ass, which will become easy as I grow increasingly restless and bored from no longer sousing myself with bad company.

Speaking of money: it's CRAZY how much I spent on booze! I probably averaged $7.50 to $8.00 a day, which averaged out adds up to over $230 a month. Visualizing how much paté and brie that can put into my face fills me with revulsion at the bilge water I wasted that money on. That's why I cavalierly dismissed my Moon Goddess's objections to me spending money on our (awesome!) Mexican lunch last week: it was paid for by three days of not quaffing crap. I could probably benefit from quitting smoking weed, too, but I only spend $40 to $45 a month on that stuff; it's the difference between a cheap DVD player and a cheap bike. Besides, eventually I'll probably go medical and CBD, and just recreationally ingest THC every so often on special occasions. Regardless, no longer drinking is a also financial boon.